Give her the seeds
Watch her bloom
She’ll get what she needs
Even if it means your doom

Give her wings
Watch her fly
Dodge the bombings
Where ideas die

Give her water
Watch her swim
To the ends of the earth in a blur
The worlds turning grimm

I guess I'll have to make it up.

    A bird came to me, she did not chirp
    And he did not whisper.
    The wings sheathed on its back                  
    Were in no disrepair.

    Was it blue? How hard to tell, for its
    Skin and coat were of glass, but
    finer.

    This bird a flower.
           So far from bloom.
           So frail i'll keep it, to nurse in
           Gloom.

Not all birds need sun, nor all flowers flight.
But this of mine will soon have both, for mine must wrest day from night.

I'm in a room of mirrors

They're each telling me something different

About myself

The mirror I should listen to

Is the one that reflects my heart

We mostly float other people's boats
Rather than just snatching a leaf from their book
Brainwashed to think our ideas are chasing rainbows
When they are actually worth the salt

there's a bed-frame with names carved into them
slightly-askew and frail
a heart at the top of every 'i'
all my underwear has blood stains on it
it's a lovesick reminder of everything I can't control
I yearned for my mother to put my hair in braids instead of a ponytail
so I got a friend that could
my hands would sweat as I wrote about her in my diary
the one without a lock
the one that was covered in DIY glue glitter
there was a summer that I wore all pink
my strawberry ice cream melted all over my polo dress and no one could tell the difference
it was my secret, sugar sweet on the lapel
beating heart for all the Lisa Frank I didn't own
a boring folder with all the scary stories I had memorized
until I myself became the ghost girl
sucker punch me in the last bathroom stall
for neither liking leather or lace

I got braces when I was 16
that year I never kissed anyone
but I made boys steal things from pricy bookstores
I measure time by my teeth
every year they get more crooked
the older I get they seem to shift back to old territory
old habits
old

now even smoking cigarettes feels boring
when I walk into bookstores
I leave sticky notes with advice I wish someone would have told me then

they did
but maybe if I had found it somewhere I was looking
I might have paid more attention
my retainer sits in a shelf collecting grime

I drink pink grapefruit flavored drinks
my face smells like the citrus
when I lose things and people
I change my hair
it helps me cope with the idea that I can never finish a stick of lip balm and most of the people I've known only yield disappointment
no one is at fault here
but the blame is usually pushed into my intestines
and I spend five days throwing up
I used to be afraid that I would never see the entire world
now I'm afraid I'll never spend enough time in a place I can call home
every morning the smell of grapefruit grows stronger

YOU WROTE MORE WORDS TODAY
IS IT ABOUT ME? YOU DIDN’T SAY.
I’M QUITE SCARED NOW,
I WANT TO ASK BUT I DONT KNOW HOW.
SO HERE I AM WRITING TO YOU,
ASKING FOR JUST ONE CLUE.
COULD IT BE?
YOUR WORDS ABOUT ME?
I DON’T WANT TO FALL SO FAST
BECAUSE I WOULD LOVE FOR THIS TO LAST.
DO NOT BE SCARED TO SHOW ME YOUR HEART
I ALREADY KNOW YOUR MIND IS ART.
I AM AWARE THIS WILL BE HARD,
AND I KNOW THIS CAUGHT YOU OFF GUARD.
BUT IF THIS WORKS IT COULD BE FUN,
MAYBE TWO CAN BECOME ONE.